Slow Cycler

Incessantly pedaling,
Insouciantly presenting
Impressive pectorals, shirtless,
The solitary cyclist slowly slipped along the sidewalk, shoes pushing pedals which    circled the sprocket to spin the spoked wheels.
The rider disdained the handlebars, instead sitting upright, his legs, barely covered,  pumped like connecting rods on paddlewheelers nostalgically plying the Mississippi.
If he had proceeded with arms crossed upon his cruciform chest an allusion to Aladdin soaring on his aerial carpet would inevitably occur,
But then the passers-by would fail to see the muscular development doubtless displaying dauntless determination for filling sturdy steel bars with ferrous discs till they form cylinders, then lifting them repeatedly.
His arms, therefore, hung loosely, yet not limply, down.
He looked not left into the yards or parking lots he passed,
Nor right into the vehicles, like mine, just inching slowly in the opposite direction, but fixed his gaze upon his destination, I assume, with focus that would flatter guards of English monarchs or of Unknown Soldiers.
And so he glided on his way, my reflecting glass reminding me, as always, that he was closer than he did therein appear.
A change of traffic signal up ahead brought more movement to my line of cars and then my mirror, when I looked, no longer showed the rider.